Adament Ideals
by Raging Tofu
Summary: Ky contemplates his relationship with Sol and what it all means. SolxKy -currently revising-


**Title:** Through it All - Adamant Ideals  
**Author:** Raging Tofu  
**Series:** Guilty Gear  
**Type:** Part 1/3 Ky POV  
**Rating:** PG  
**Paring:** N/A  
**Warning**: Lots of SolxKy implications (Ky makes one _really_ obvious.)  
**Setting**: After the events of X2. Lots of flashbacks, hope it doesn't get too confusing.  
**Author's Notes**: My first Gulity Gear fic I'll admit, I had no real plot for this, I just started writing one night, and this ended up being the result. Ky's POV although I'm not much of a fan of first-person as I used to be, I find this works best for him. Since the time this story has beend posted, a lot of things have bugged me, so I'm now revising it.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything of Guilty Gear; it belongs first and foremost to Ishiwatari-san and also to the people of Sammy Studios and Arc Systems.  
**Version History**: v.1 4-25-2005 / v.2 3-27-2008 (minor edits to info, full revision in works)

* * *

The air is pleasantly humid; the smell of rainwater thick in it. The gray clouds that hang overhead rumble lowly, but in calming sense that is more reassuring than threatening. There are no flashes of lightning, as it is just a small spring shower, but to me, the atmosphere still feels electric. And it excites me.

I find myself strolling onto the small balcony that accompanies my apartment suite; the cool spray of rainwater is refreshing against my bare shoulders. My hands grip the thin, black, wrought iron railing firmly. It is damp and cold, but not too uncomfortable as I lean upon it. Below, the street is awash with puddles; only one or two stragglers getting caught without a proper means to shield themselves. Shutters and doors are snuggly shut; their tenants probably huddling near some source of warmth whereas I leave my doors open wide in welcome and venture out into the storm. Needless to say, I am soaked within minutes, but do not give thought to heading back inside.

Turning my face upwards, I let the rain tickle my face and drip down my exposed neck. My shirt is unzipped, the belt around my chest is loosened—a nagging voice in the back of mind is scolding me for letting the leather of it get wet and ruined and the buckle tarnish. For once, I am free of my daily restraints and all I wish to do is relish in it. The sense of freedom causes my thoughts to drift towards Sol, of all people.

It causes me to frown thoughtfully.

I never had any intentions for things to get as far as they did, nor had I even given thought that it was possible that our so-called 'association' with each other would ever turn into something other than a bitter rivalry. I rest my chin on a curled hand, gazing at the falling beads of water that drop before my eyes. Like the punctuating staccato of the raindrops that fall from the ashen sky, I find my own thoughts to waver, dabbling over the issues at hand, as well as the events that irrevocably lead up to it. The memories still stings, but I find it is a pleasant one.

Our relationship over the years has been an interesting one. When I think about it now, I can't help but find myself drawn into its myriad of chance meetings and the words spoken—whether out of spite or hidden caution for one another—all of which is horribly intricate and confusing, and yet enthralling in the same light. It's near maddening, trying to analyze the complexity of its entirety, and sometimes I wonder why I bother at all to understand it.

Emotions cannot be given limits, because they aren't a material thing that people can control. So then why, I wonder, do people tend to classify a feeling to one state versus another? Whose to say that there is only one definition? Everyone has their own opinion— and now I find I am in conflict with my own views. Especially the ones I have come to associate with that ruffian. Secretly, I wonder what he is up to right now; my mind wading through forgotten remembrances.

It has been just a little over a year since our last encounter.

I can still remember it all very clearly; the details nearly disturbing in their pragmatism. It was the holiday between Christmas and the coming year; and sharply chill. Still, I was outside, meandering my way through the skeletal trees that groped for the warm, glowing orb of the Sun that forever remained out of their grasp. The snow was powdery; it crunched softly under my feet, covering everything in a sparkling blanket of minute diamonds.

A random rumor had sent me out there that day. Every once in a while, some anonymous tip about an Artifact would find its way to my desk. And every time, I would scrutinize the information, attempting to define the facts that were truth and those that were fabrication. Ultimately though, my interest in the Old World articles always won out and more oft than not I would be one wandering some remote local in search of a whisper.

The rumors and clues almost never amounted to anything, but I did not care. It gave me something to do, outside of the office; away from persistent bureaucrats, heaps of paperwork, and the boredoms associated with a desk job. Not to say that my occupation was unexciting, just a little trying at times, and as of late, a little dull, but that may as well be attributed to the dreary season.

No, instead, here I was, on what was yet to be another fool's quest. But one that led a path straight back to Hell.

I had been too distracted in my own intense concentration to notice my surroundings. Slowly, as I lifted my gaze from the snow at my feet, I began to take in the neatly constructed stone formations around me; their silhouettes dredging up more pain than I cared for at that moment; catching sharply in my chest.

I found that I had somehow wandered back to the site of one of my many battles against the Gears—in short, one of the more ruthless clashes. I, with my squad, had come upon a regiment of Gears, catching them early in their advance towards one of the many small towns that dotted the more rural regions. Our battle took place amidst the withering stalks and dried earth. They were vicious, sparing no mercy to my troops. The losses for both sides were frighteningly significant.

_I know them not to be human, but still…_ Their unholy blood watered these fields, and I could still hear their shrieks of pain as I cut them down. It sent a shiver down my spine. _They are creatures under God, no matter how vile_.

It had been at least seven years since that fateful battle. The Gears we had encountered that day were to be part of Justice's main fleet. Our slayings that day turned a crucial tide for us, quite possibly leading to our final victory in the Crusades at the Battle of Rome.

Pausing, I lay a hand to one of the structures that now dot the barren wasteland. The stone beneath my bare fingers is smooth and cold. The building was perhaps a mill or the foundation to a farmhouse—not that it really matters now, as the area had been declared unfit to inhabit. On the battlefield I can tear down one monstrosity after another without so much as a second thought, but afterwards, I find that I become a wreak, torn between my own inner turmoil and regret of my actions against what I know to be right. The cold air seemed to sting my chest harder as I attempted to compose myself.

We had won the fight that day, but at what cost? How many more times must I charge into battle to fight an enemy that is nothing more than a puppet? How much longer must we suffer before this cruel war ends? I would always privately wonder, but never spoke my queries aloud. To my men, I was their leader—someone who they believed with all their heart and would willing give their lives for. My name alone struck a chord of awe in people, as well as fear.

And for that, I hated myself.

I had never intended on being worshiped or feared, but I was, and I despised it as much as I despised the Gears. It irritated me to no end that people thought I could solve all their problems. Truly, I cannot. I just happen to be a gifted person, who was thrust into a life of liabilities dirtied with warfare when I shouldn't have been. I didn't want it, but I couldn't say 'no' either. So, I had put my personal fears and morals aside and shouldered the burden. And over the years I had learned to accommodate my responsibilities, but never rid myself completely of it.

But in spite of that, our deeds, as well as our sins, have already been committed. There's just too much that time cannot erase.

By now I had regained myself and drifted back from my musings. The wars were over, the Order disbanded, and there was no longer a need for a prodigy. Heaving a heavy sigh, I pressed onward. The sparrows chirped merrily in the distance as I made my way through the rest of the decimated countryside. My eyes roved over the hills, recalling the exact locations where I had placed my men—all save one.

He was a dirty scoundrel, by my standards, coupled with an unpleasant attitude. Never once had he shown any amount of respect for myself or God; or anyone else for that matter. Instead, just languidly stood about observing everything with a bored expression on his face. Even on that day, he had just stood by, watching my men and I fight. The mere thought of him caused a nasty scowl to appear on my face.

My steps grew a little faster and my movements became slightly stiffer as I continued through the crisp white snow. My mind had become fixated on him and I proceeded to find every fault I could with him—each one adding another spark to my already raging fire of hatred towards him. Angry white puffs of hot air rose each time I exhaled. If my face wasn't already pink from cold, it was sure to be now by fury.

He always had an air of aloofness about him—as if he loathed (and he probably did) everything about the Order. No matter how I treated him, or spoke to him, Sol would always just flash a knowing smirk at me before turning aside, usually administering some derogatory comment. The words 'Rock You', which he had crudely cut into that odd metallic headband he wore, seemed to forever taunt me. True, he could best me in a bout, but he was _never_ my equal. He never bothered to attain any form of rank, and even without the proper authority over others; still he treated everyone as if they were lower than him. Anything and everything he did was out of his own personal need and want—he never did anything for another. It irked me that he could be so selfish.

A low growl had found its way to my throat. The man was insufferable—and yet, even as I reflected on it—the hatred that had built between us over the years—I could not find it in myself to _truly_ hate him anymore. Granted, even though I disliked his idea of 'authority', the way he smoked constantly, his boorish nature, the way he was constantly condescending, and the way he called me 'boy', I still could not bring myself to continue my rage against him. The fire within me slowly subsided.

_Why? _I wondered, stopping yet again in my strides. _Why can't I hate him anymore?_ I racked my brain for any bit of information I had on him and came up with very little. Sol was an enigma, to say the least. He was extremely powerful and skilled, but he never fought in any of our battles unless he truly felt like doing it, which was rare. He acted as if he knew everything but never shared his thoughts with another, even when asked. _Why then?_ I furrowed my brow and dug my hands deep into my pockets, seeking warmth. My chilled fingers touched something cold and metallic. Curious, I withdrew the object and found myself staring at a gold crucifix in my palm identical to the one I wore tuck inside my shirt and the same one every Knight of the Holy Order had. Winter's frail breath began to tease my hair as I continued to stare at the cross.

This one had been Sol's.

As if a mere thought had the power to summon, there he suddenly was, an almost faint silhouette on the edge of the field, standing as still as the stone around him. A shadow within a shadow. Belatedly, I wondered how I had not spied him there earlier. As I wondered what one such as he would be doing back here of all places, my feet suddenly decided that they wished to continue and I found myself heading for him. When his form drew nearer, clear enough for me to see the shabby condition he was in, Sol turned silently and faced me, eyes hard and glaring. I stopped dead in my tracks.

Sol seemed almost otherworldly, as he watched me. The way he impassively leaned up against the outer wall, with his arms crossed and head dipped, and they way those blood-red eyes just watched me—it was disturbing, to say the least. Fuuenken leaned next to him, barely visible emissions of heat drifted slowly from it. In one swift, fluid motion, he grabbed it, swung it across his shoulder, and approached, stopping only a few feet from me.

"Well?" His voice was ruff with disuse as it partially rasped over the word. I stood where I was, hands balled into fists. His gaze narrowed, and a twisted sneer drew back from the corner of his mouth. Whether or not he knew I was there previously I didn't know, but his tone suggested that he had expected me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, keeping my voice controlled and neutral. No sense provoking him without a need to. Out of habit, I wanted to glare and scowl at him, but forced myself to keep still.

He smirked, casually swinging Fuuenken off his shoulder and rammed it into the ground before him folding his hands over the hilt—the action was eerily reminiscent of our days within the Order. Sol didn't answer me; he just stood there, completely still, staring at me with such contempt in his expression.

Fuuraiken was at my side, as she had always been, but I hadn't any need for her, provided Sol kept his neutral stance. The wind picked up, biting sharply and sending a light dusting of white flakes about him and shifting his long ponytail slightly. He was dressed as always, and I briefly wondered if he even felt the cold, let alone acknowledged it. I don't know how long we just stood there, just staring at each other, but the shadows had grown long before we spoke again.

"It's useless you know," Sol stated, his gaze briefly flickered to my right hand.

"Nothing's useless unless you try," I replied smoothly, noting his movement and understanding his meaning. "I swear, I will save you from your sins."

He scoffed lowly, a '_cheh' _sort of sound, and averted his glare to the side. "That's just like you, Ky. Can't stop at something even if it's impossible."

"I-it's not impossible," I barely managed to get the words out. Sol had called me by my first name—something I thought I'd never hear again, and something that still shook me to my core.

Sol lowered his head, smirking again. He withdrew his hands and snatched up his sword, rolling it over the back of his hand into his favored reverse-grip. "You keep this up, boy," he spat with a frown of disdain. "And I _will_ break you."

A felt a rush of immense energy and power wash over me. The force was much like a great shove, and it carried Sol's signature to it. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. _A warning, is it?_ I silently contemplated as I watched him turn and walk away. _That's unlike you, Sol. You usually just barge ruthlessly right in, dump your information or administer a sound beating, and then vanish. Regardless though, I look forward to seeing what God will make of a barbarian like yourself._ I still held the crucifix, clutched tightly, its gold chain slipping through my fingers like fine silk. _I will make sure you remember your words._ Turning back to where I had came from; I pocketed the cross again and strolled off into the creeping twilight.

A low clap of thunder brings me out of my reverie, the sound causing me to gasp unexpectedly. Without thinking, my own fingers raise to lightly brush the cross that hangs about my neck. I sigh, setting my mouth in a firm line as I press the ornate piece between my thumb and forefinger. I still have Sol's; it rests beneath the lamp on my bedside table where I had placed it there all those years ago.

Initially, I think, I didn't put much thought to it. But now, after all the chance encounters, and banter, his reasons are finally starting to become clear. It almost shames to say it has taken me this long to figure that man out, but in a sense, I have a feeling that Sol wants it that way.

I've heard say that time heals all wounds. Perhaps this is the case then. Sol has hurt my pride and ego numerous times in the past, and as a result, I have developed a grudge against him. Every time I saw him, or even felt his presence, the hatred would rear up and we would have a clash of wills. Or swords. But now, after so much time, the grudge has all but burnt itself out. In place of the fiery inferno that it had been, was now a kindling flame—soft and warm.

Mutual, I suppose, is how I would have to put it now. I don't necessarily _hate_ Sol, but I don't like him that much either. Strange, how I find his company pleasant and comforting in lieu of uneasy savagery that made me raise my guard.

Averting my gaze to one side, again I fell into my memories.

He had given it back, shortly before he left the Order. I had found him on one of the second floor balconies that overlooked the inner gardens. He was clad in his usual wear, in place of the Order's uniform, leaning up against the thick granite railing, looking down at the arranged greenery and flora below over one shoulder. I approached tentatively. He didn't even so much as glance in my direction when I drew near or even when I had stopped before him.

His stance was his usual—a relaxed slouch. Sol had, I noted almost cynically, the amazing ability to be entirely clean and yet look totally disheveled at the same time. I think what struck me most interesting about the situation was his expression. For once, he didn't have his look of cold indifference or even a patronizing glare. His gaze was soft and contemplative, almost regretful in some aspects—something I had never given him credit for being.

"Sol…" I ventured uncertainly. This was a rare moment, and I did not want it to shatter away. He was still, as if rooted to the spot; the only movement was the light sway of his long, unruly hair he kept bound in a ponytail as it flowed in the wind's current.

"Yeah?" he grunted. I initially had not expected him to answer, having grown used to his normal ignorance of everyone around him. He turned a crimson eye toward me. "What do you want?" The Sol I had just witnessed was gone, the usual back in its place.

I couldn't think of a plausible reason for being there, so I took a space next to him, leaning my forearms on the cool stone and stared across the garden. "Nothing," I heard myself say after a moment. "Just wanted to know what you were doing out here."

He gave a short grunt of amusement, then turned his face to the stars above and shifted his stance. It was then I noticed that he did not have a cigarette held limply between his lips, as I had grown accustom to seeing. His expression transferred back to the glimpse I had seen earlier as he gazed at the heavens.

Sol smirked, lowering his gaze and shifting his legs to that his ankles we crossed. "Is that the best you could come up with, boy?" Lazily, he opened one eye and glanced at me. He knew that name got to me, and he never wasted a second thought in using it. I said nothing, already too preoccupied with attempting to calm my nerves and the all-too-familiar urge to give him a good lashing—either physically or verbally—for his choice of phrasing.

"That's good," he spoke, as if he was speaking to no one other than himself.

"Pardon?" I kept my voice controlled but it still held an edge to it. He turned to face me, studying me with those blood-red orbs of his before speaking again.

"Your control is getting better," he commented as if were some small, insignificant matter, but his tone betrayed him. His voice almost sounded regretful, and his face held the briefest flash of compunction to it. It threw me into a stupor, to see him like this, and I would have commented, had he not suddenly rose up. Silently, I found myself torn between wanting him to stay and wishing he would leave. I must have made some sort of sound, for he stopped two paces away and lazily rolled his head to the side.

"What?" he sounded amused with my situation, though irritated, which only served to anger me further and was probably the effect he desired.

"It's nothing," I bit the words off more sharply than I had intended to and quickly averted my attention back to the gardens. There was a rather long pause before I heard him give an almost laughing _cheh_.

"My, my," he muttered, stepping back up to the railing while drawing out a familiar stick of nicotine and lighting it. "Someone's touchy tonight."

"Please, for once, cease in your idle banter. It's unbecoming." Once again, my tongue had run off without me. He scoffed again, returning his semi-crushed packet to his pocket.

"Now that'd be something, wouldn't it?" He took a long draw before looking up. "It'd be like asking you to loosen up for a change," Sol added, mumbling, his gaze distant. Removing his cigarette, he studied it, completely ignoring me.

"I can change," I glared at him with the utmost contempt. I could feel the muscles in my back tighten in frustration. There was a small flicker on his face that almost resembled a smile, but whatever it had been was quickly hidden by his hand as he raised it to suck on his cigarette again. His eyes narrowed slightly as he exhaled a cloud of the toxic fumes.

"No you can't," he sneered, using his _knowing_ tone. "No matter what you'll still always be a stuck-up brat." He paused to suck on his cigarette again, curiously considering me. "Face it; you'll always have a stubborn, holier-than-thou attitude." Sol chucked a bit at his own retort before returning to his smoke.

I was speechless. His words infuriated me. My stomach clenched at his words, causing a nasty bile to rise to the back of my throat. It suddenly became very difficult for me to stand there calmly as if his words had not affected me at all. I tried my hardest not to look at him, as it would give away my position and give him the advantage of getting under my skin again, but something about his presence made me glance up at him.

"I'm right, aren't I, Ky?" His eyes narrowed as he removed his cigarette, throwing it aside and crushing its embers under his foot. It was then that his expression changed—if only slightly. For the briefest flicker of a moment, his smirk grew into a genuine smile. Then I blinked, and he was giving me that nasty smirk again.

I contemplated his words momentarily; before it dawned on me that he had used my real name for a change. No sarcastic 'sir', no degrading 'boy', just my name—short and simple. Upon further analysis I discovered he had spoken it—lacing it with an emotion I had never even dreamed of pairing with him—with affection. I couldn't believe it. I ran his words through my mind again, but it was still the same—the short pause before it and the way it rolled lightly off his tongue, ending almost in a sigh of sorts.

_Ridiculous_, I told myself. _There is no way someone like him would…I'm just jumping to conclusion again, there's a reasonable explanation for this, I'm sure…_ The thought of it was so preposterous, and yet so plausible, that I found I couldn't even finish my thoughts correctly. I shot a glance over at him, finding him to be yet again, overlooking the gardens. _I must be crazy…_ Even though, I found I could not help but observe his profile. I suddenly saw a hidden elegance there I had not noticed before. It sent a tremor though me and made my heart race. _It's not right…_

"Well?" he inquired, breaking the long silence.

"No," I said quickly, turning aside. My cheeks felt hot and the last thing I need was for him to see me blushing over such a trivial thing.

"Tell you what," he began, leaning against the stone as I had done. Sol turned and looked at me, his eyes fiercely intense. It sent another shiver down my spine. I had never seen such a look on his face before. In my moments of bewilderment, he had retrieved yet another object from his pocket. He held out a fisted hand and I offered mine. "I'll change when you do," he said, dropping the object he held into my open palm.

A gold cross. Immaculate; as he had obviously never worn it, and I highly doubted he had ever bothered to carry it on him until tonight. When I looked up again, he was gone. A quick glance over the railing revealed a tall, barely visible silhouette slipping further into the shadows. Pocketing his crucifix, I felt a smile creep its way to my face.

It wasn't long after that he had vanished. Along with the Fuuenken.

Even now, with rain plastering my bangs to my forehead, I still have to smirk at the situation. It's just so like Sol to do something like that. I think at that point our rivalry had shifted to a mutual understanding of sorts. I had only ran into him a scant handful of times after the Crusades were over, and every time, he still acts like the impervious brute that I know him as. A smile breaks out as I face the falling water again.

"What are you doing?" a gruff voice calls from behind me, startling me briefly. I didn't have to turn around to see who it is; I can recognize Sol's voice anywhere. It strikes a familiar chord within me.

"Do you make it a habit to enter another's home unannounced?" I counter smoothly, ice lacing my tone. Not wanting to take any chances, I immediately raise my shields. He scoffs. Now I turn to glance over my shoulder at him.

Sol stands a few feet from the door, at the corner of my bed, still clad in his usual attire. He did not even bother to take his boots off at the door; I note with a slight scowl the wet puddle collecting at his feet as well as the pattern of mud that trails across the wood floor from the spot he occupies to out of the room and around the corner.

I have never thought him to be the considerate type, so I did not bring it up. He waits there a moment longer before stepping out onto the balcony. With his gaze downcast, he digs into the pocket of his cream-colored khakis and takes out a partially crushed box of cigarettes. Withdrawing one, he replaces the pack, and then proceeds to light the cancer stick with his fire magic. Sol takes a long drag before speaking again.

"So?" he prompts, rain splattering against his tanned skin.

"So what?"

"This is different," he notes, and I did not miss the way his eyes are assessing my form, the action of almost causes my shields to break. I feel my face grow hot and subconsciously retreat within myself. A half-laugh escapes him before he takes another draw, averting his attention to the empty street below. The rain begins to trickle off, dark clouds parting to a setting sun, and I now feel its chilling effects. My bare shoulders round in; and my hands curl inside wet sleeves as I exhale a shuttering breath that conceals a shiver.

But I wasn't shivering because I was cold.

Turning, I make my way for the balcony door, but slip, flinging a hand out to grab the frame, and stubbing my toe badly on the geranium pot I kept nearby. It is only later, when I actually do grasp the doorframe that I realize my efforts alone did not prevent me from falling. Sol withdraws his arm from around my waist as I rise.

"You shouldn't be so hasty, boy," he comments, again with _that_ word. I say nothing, and instead enter the bathroom and retrieve a towel from the linen closet. Rubbing it vigorously against my damp hair, I head into the front room, Sol following shortly.

"Must you call me that?" I snap, briefly pausing only to note that the towel I am holding is already soaked through. "Please, I implore you to cease."

Sol shrugs nonchalantly. "I will when you stop acting like one."

I flash him a glare as I pass to retrieve another towel. "Is that why you're here? To give me more of your _advice_?" Sneering didn't seem to be working, so I attempt sarcasm.

He scoffs again before plopping down on my couch. "Take of it what you will," he replies watching me out of the corner of his eye.

I frown thoughtfully at his words before disappearing behind my bedroom door to change out of my wet clothes. I could fathom no reason for why he would sudden show up as he did, and it perplexes me to no end. After digging through my drawers, I find a pair of gray linen pants and a matching shirt. My wet clothes were slick against my skin, and protest as I draw them off and hang them in the bathroom to dry. Putting on the fresh garments renews me enough to deal with Sol and his surreptitious way of speaking. As I towel off the remaining wetness in my hair, I shoot a glance over to my nightstand.

_Perhaps he's returned because he's changed_? I muse as I reenter the front room. Sol still sits on the couch, slouching, with a bored look on his face. As I take up a seat on the opposite end of the couch I note that the muddy footprints he had left are suddenly gone and his dirty boots now rest near the door.

_Well, that's certainly something_… "Why _are_ you here?" I question, drawing one leg up and tucking it under me. Sol runs a hand through the bangs that flop over his headband before throwing his arm along the top of the sofa.

"Does it matter?" he asks it as if he truly means it. His other hand rubs the back of his neck nervously as he stares off across the room.

I thoughtfully nibble on a hangnail before answering. He won't admit it, but I can tell he wants to tell me something. I can see it in his expression and actions. Even if I ask what is occupying his thoughts, I highly doubt he'll give me a straight and honest answer, if even answer at all. If Sol wants me to know something, he'll tell me when he's ready—not before and not after. Reluctantly, I put the matter aside.

"I suppose not. But why me?" I was skeptical and didn't bother trying to hide it.

He turns to me and smirks. "Why not?" It is then that I know I have made a mistake. The tables turn, I no longer holding the advantage. His eyes hold that peculiar gleam when he knows that he's in control.

_Then again, maybe nothing about him has changed_. Privately I ponder why it would matter if he even _did_ change or not. On a further thought, why I wish that he would change. No matter what he does, Sol is Sol. I could never think of him differently. Not even after finding out his secret. I contemplate the matter further. During our clashes within the Order, I would always associate Sol with my enemy—the Gears, and now after discovering that Sol is indeed a Gear—the prototype—it does nothing to further alter my view of him and I find that I can't despise him as much as I once did.

Is it pity, perhaps, that causes such a revolution? I didn't know. I didn't really feel sorry for him, but I didn't hold his heritage against him either. I set my mouth in a firm line as I attempt to decipher the situation. The clock on the mantle chimes, disrupting my thoughts and I notice that the last of the sun's orange rays recede out of the room, plunging it in semi-darkness. Sighing, I push the matter aside and rise, gathering a pillow and some extra blankets from the linen closet. Sol blinks owlishly in the dim light as I approach.

"I don't know what you mean by being here," I say dropping the armload next to him. "But you may stay the night if you wish. It's the least I can do, seeing as you came all the way out here."

Sol lazily shrugs as if the matter is of no great concern to him. "Suit yourself," he mumbles at my back before I close my door.

Sleep does not come to me that night and I spend most of my time trying to get comfortable, but it is hopeless. My thoughts are keeping me up and I can't _stop_ thinking long enough to drift off, if even for a mere moment. After tossing for what seems like the hundredth-and-some time, I toss back the covers and slip out of bed.

The kettle doesn't take long to heat, and for that, I am glad. The sweet aroma of chamomile drifts up as I fill my cup. Even though it is spring, out of habit I warm my fingers over the rising steam. I note, taking a cautious sip, that the couch remains empty; the blankets are still neat in their pile.

A slight wave of disappointment washes over me, but I place it aside as nothing significant. It wasn't my choice to make whether he'd stay or not. Still, the idea of him just showing up for no apparent reason perturbs me. Sol wouldn't just intentionally do something like this for the sake of doing it. He had some reason for being here, but had not, and probably would not say, and I haven't the faintest either. Finishing my tea, I head back to my room. The warmth in the pit of my stomach is enough to lull me into a light sleep. Just as I am pulling back the covers, the door to my balcony opens and in steps Sol.

He looks surprised and I am too, having thought him gone. He is barefoot and bare to the waist, wearing only his jeans. His hand twitches, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but then shuts it, apparently at a loss for words. The encounter is awkward for both of us.

"I thought you had left," I say softly, breaking the silence.

"Nah," he answers, sounding and acting more like the Sol I know him to be. "Just went outside for a cigarette." He vaguely waves a thumb in the direction of the balcony, keeping his gaze averted from mine.

I purposely frown at him. Again, something is amiss, but he's not saying. "It's a nasty habit, you should give it up." I sit down, fairly positive that I will not have another chance at getting any more sleep this night; best to get this confrontation over with as quickly as possible.

He sighs, blatantly irritate. "Not this shit again…" Sol hangs his head for a moment, hands on his hips. He shakes his head and mutters something before looking up, and at me this time. "Give it a rest, will ya? I told you, it's useless."

"That may be what you think, but I refuse to give up so easily," I keep my tone firm, not wanting to betray the irritation boiling within me. Sol's expression shifted from one of annoyance to his "See? I told you so," sneer that I have come to loathe.

I have made my second mistake with him.

Not wishing to further jeopardize my indignity, I bite my tongue and turn aside, feeling my face flush yet again. Sol, for his credit, says nothing. The tension between us continues to build as the minutes tick by. Then, without so much as another sound, Sol leaves, closing my bedroom door behind him. Almost immediately, I let loose the breathe I have been holding and collapse onto my pillows. My chest feels tight and my head dizzy. It is then I realize that I can never change him. No matter what I do, Sol will always be himself. In the past few moments of the day I have spent in his company, our love-hate relationship doubled in its complexity and I find myself stuck in the middle; torn between the two extremities.

Some small voice in the back of my head reminds me that he was just in my bedroom, and had been earlier, even though I had shut the door. My face scowls. _Has he no common courtesy? I can't believe he would just barge in here!_ Pausing, I thought it over again. _Then again, it is rather an effort to go all the way down to the ground floor, and my balcony is more convenient…Why does it seem like I'm making excuses for him? _I hastily roll over, my face burning _To think he would do something like that_.

The voice offers up the notion that, perhaps, he just wanted to see me, and then dashed out to the balcony when I got up. He didn't seem to have a reason for showing up initially and he seemed to be at a loss for words when you came back in. The evilness that is my conscious then stated that whether or not I chose to acknowledge it, I was happy to see him again.

_It can't be…I don't believe it for a second…_ Undoubtedly though, the more I try to deny myself of my feelings, the more I find them to be true. I almost want to laugh at my predicament, but a sinking sensation in my chest keeps me silent. It torments me—this feeling, and I know not what to make of it. Bitterly, I decide that emotions are horrible little things that serve only to befuddle our already complicated lives. It is a while before I cease long enough in my berating to sort everything out. _I still find it hard to believe… but be it as it may, I'll just accept it…for now…_ Eventually, I manage to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

When I wake the next morning, he is already gone. But upon the table accompanying the couch there is a scrape of paper that had not been there before. Curious, I pick it up and study the near-unintelligible writing.

I smile and am able to continue forward.

* * *

Thank you for reading, please review, I'd like to know what you thought. There is a sequel to this piece, but it's still in the works. I know many of you are still waiting and I apologize for the extreme delay; life has been keeping me busy.


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